


ride or die

by firstaudrina



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-22 19:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13173711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstaudrina/pseuds/firstaudrina
Summary: Maybe her heart's a little more scarred up.





	ride or die

**Author's Note:**

> Carter Baizen as everyone's wish fulfillment one night stand! Good times!

The first time Serena fucks Carter is on a beach in Greece.

It's the honest to goodness first time, because Carter never would before; Carter always said she was too young with a sort of patronizing teasing in his eyes, though he'd kiss her like crazy. Even after she started sleeping with other people just to prove her point, he wouldn't. She's not sure what's different now. Maybe her heart's a little more scarred up.

Serena is on the run from boarding school – for the length of spring break, at least. Carter is just on the run. She gets hiccupy drunk in the clubs he takes her to even though she doesn't mean to have that many drinks, or any drinks. Carter's on a bender, which he usually is, though the circles under his eyes indict he's closer to the rough comedown than the splintering high.

They laugh until Serena starts crying. She hadn't meant to do that. She ends up spilling the whole thing about Nate and the wedding, which Carter reacts to with his usual half-assed compassion: "Honey, there's probably not a person that boy wouldn't give it up for."

_Except Blair_ , Serena thinks, and feels so awful for thinking it that she starts crying again. Carter is not a helpful person in situations like this (or most situations, actually) but he holds her close and cracks dumb jokes until her tears turn back to laughter, however hysterical.

"I'm sorry, beautiful, I'm sorry," he says later, "I shouldn't've said that –" But Serena shuts him up with a kiss.

They end up on the beach as the sun is coming up, colors burning on the horizon like the titular cocktail: orange juice and grenadine exploding over the tequila sea. Carter is beautiful in the way Serena has always liked, something fraying just beneath the surface of his eyes. She recognizes Carter. She recognizes what's inside him.

They kiss again, sand gritty under their hands and in their hair. Serena doesn't want to think or feel or anything, and Carter is here, being beautiful. He says, "Tell me what you need, honey," and for once he agrees to give it to her.

"Your shirt –" she says, pulling at it, and, "On your back –"

Carter spends all his time in the sun; he's burned and bronzed all over to show for it. As Serena eases herself onto him, his teeth sink into the tip of his tongue and his head presses back into the sand. He's the first boy she's been with since Nate.

Serena is good at this part. She knows all about it. She gets that toe-curling feeling every time, that urge to squeeze her thighs together. She likes the way guys feel, marvels at the things her body is capable of experiencing – but that's where it usually stops. It's a thing that feels good for a while and then peters off, and the only time she's ever sparked it into something _more_ she's been alone – except that one time with Georgina, drunk in the back of a cab.

Carter knows where to touch her but just to be sure, he asks. He keeps a hand down where he's inside her, his fingers slipping in alongside his dick sometimes, stroking her mostly, until Serena feels like she might burst out of her own skin. And then she kind of does. It's the first time she ever did that with a guy.

Carter falls asleep a little while later. Serena sits beside him wrapped in his pullover, watching the day turn hard and bright. He has shells threaded around his neck. He looks young when he's asleep – looks his age for once, not much different from hers.

During – to be specific, _after_ her but before him, Carter had kissed her hard on the mouth and smoothed his hands repeatedly over her legs. "I love you," he'd breathed, "I love you, you know?"

Serena leaves before he wakes up.

 

 

 

 

Carter is one of those off-limits boys for Blair, not only because he seems to be solely Serena's business but also because he's _bad_ , he's dirty and slutty and skips out on his trust fund like some people skip brunches.

Blair wakes up naked under her sheets and the secret, luxurious feel of it is overwhelming, all that silk and softness against all of her skin. She's never slept naked in her own bed before, and that seems bizarre. Carter is expectedly gone, but there is a folded slip of paper on her bedside table, a stolen piece of her nicest stationary. Blair sits up, blankets held to her chest, and unfolds it.

It says six words, some letters, messy scrawl: _You got a great ass, gorgeous_.

Blair rolls her eyes but then she laughs.

Last night had been something else. Not just the disaster of the play, the disaster of her life, not just Carter's proprietary hand on her thigh –

Blair has always liked doing things she isn't supposed to do.

"Isn't Serena the one you're looking for?" she said, ignoring his hand, the heat of his fingers through her stockings. "She was just here. You can probably still catch her."

"You seem sorta lonely, sweetheart." Blair had always hated Carter's predilection for pet names, especially unwarranted ones. She wasn't anything to him, especially not his sweetheart. "Thought you could use the company."

Blair looked over at him, her lips at the rim of her glass, and found his eyes sparkling mischievously. "What kind of company?"

He reached over to lift the toothpick-stabbed olive from her drink and dragged it off the stick by his teeth. "Well, that's up to you, isn't it?"

Blair's stare turned contemplative, sweeping over him with renewed interest. She wondered if it would bother Serena if Blair took him to bed. Serena would never say it if it did.

"Call a cab," Blair told him.

In the cab he tried to kiss her but Blair turned her face away, her hand on his neck. "Oh, you're one of those," Carter said, like he'd heard it all before.

"One of those?"

"You want it, you don't want to say it," he said. "But you see, sweetheart, that makes it hard to tell if you _actually_ want it."

"I don't want you to kiss me." Her gaze slid sideways towards the cabbie, but then she figured _fuck it_. "But I want you to fuck me. Clear enough for you?"

Carter grinned.

Blair was good at fooling herself too, and for all that she pretended to have sex without strings, she wasn't sure she'd ever quite accomplished it. But Carter wasn't a boy she'd grown up loving, or a boy she buried her feelings for. He was hot enough to get her pulse going but not much else. She didn't feel anything for him.

He lay back across her bed with his shirt off and his belt open, dress pants slouching low around his hips. Blair shimmied her panties off under her dress, felt her heart hammer in her chest as his eyebrow lifted.

"She means business," he said, and when she vacillated, his expression took on something intent and sexy. "You can do whatever you want to me, gorgeous."

Blair shivered then, under her skin, up through her fingers.

She was used to being the one who was brought to pleasure, who waited for somebody else to play her body like an instrument. That was the game she'd learned and the game she liked. She didn't usually – she wasn't the one who usually –

But then she thought: fuck it.

In the morning, from the luxury of her bed, she texts Carter: _round two?_ And receives the reply just as quickly as she wanted it: _thought you'd never ask_.

 

 

 

 

Carter is in Barcelona when he gets Serena's message.

_I know it's been forever, I don't even know if this is still your number_ , and her voice is all the sweeter for how long it's been since he last heard it, _but Blair and I are in Paris and I thought – well. If you were nearby, maybe…_

He can practically hear her biting her lip. What else can he do except grab the next train?

Carter hasn't been cleaned up since the last time he was in New York, so he passes through the lobby of that ritzy Parisian hotel with holes in his sweater and the beginnings of a proper beard. Ancient, vacationing society grandmothers look at him askance. Carter winks at them.

Serena is hesitantly pleased to see him, Blair less so; they get room service and eat at the low coffee table, something with Vanessa Paradis playing on the television. Serena tells him about the trip so far (" _I'm_ enjoying the city," Blair interjects, " _She's_ enjoying the citizens.") and Blair drinks a lot of champagne, because she'd insisted on champagne.

"I've enjoyed many a citizen myself, in my time," he says wisely.

"Blair's just jealous because she isn't having any orgasms this summer," Serena teases. "She's too busy reading books and buying clothes and eating lots of chocolate."

"Aw, poor little Waldorf." Carter shakes a cigarette out of his pack. "What about that dipshit you were going –" He breaks off when Serena shakes her head minutely. "Ah, well. Chuck's always had his head up his ass."

They all toast to that.

The night goes smooth and hazy, the best way for nights like this to go. Blair's lips were red at the start of the night but now all the color's gone, leaving behind a bright pink stain to match the boozey flush of her cheeks. Serena's hair is a messy halo around her head and her mascara's gone a bit smudgy. This is always how Carter liked her best. He remembers the first time he saw her she looked like that.

"Glad to see you're not holding a grudge, beautiful," he murmurs.

Some of the mirth leaves her expression though the sweetness remains. "I don't want to be serious tonight," she says, so they aren't.

Carter has angled himself into some situations in his time but he isn't exactly planning on that here – though he notices things, because he has _eyes_ , like Serena's hand slipping into Blair's hair or Blair leaning so hard into Serena's side that it could objectively be deemed cuddling. It's girl stuff, he knows, and also Serena-and-Blair stuff, but at the same time it feels a little different. He knows those kinds of touches: not friendly but languid and lingering, waiting and wanting. He's employed them occasionally in the past.

So he's not surprised by what happens; he even wonders if he was brought in as a kind of conduit. He's been that before.

There's Serena's mouth first, that way she kisses that is both hesitant and nothing of the sort. A tease of a kiss, always, lips quick against his, gone and back again until he grips handfuls of her hair and kisses her hard. Blair watches with a thoughtful expression. If Carter learned anything from their one or two days (one and a half days, really), it's that Blair's a girl who rises to a dare like nothing else. So she kisses Serena first too, some kind of fantasy.

They keep on kissing while Carter gets Serena off with his fingers. He likes it – not just watching them but being shut out of it a little, because it seems like now that they've started they don't quite know how to stop. He's cool with it; he's cool with everything. He likes Serena panting into Blair's mouth, saying Blair's name while she works herself back against his hand. She's wearing a short little dress and he watches the muscles in her thighs tense when she comes, feels her pulse around him.

She kisses him again. It's stupid, but every time he kisses Serena, he has a bizarrely familiar feeling. Kissing Serena is déjà vu, every single time.

Then she ignores him again in favor of tipping Blair onto her back. Blair looks just a little uncertain but it dissipates in the flutter of closing lids as Serena's mouth starts to move down Blair's inner thigh. Serena pauses just once to glance over her shoulder at Carter, to twitch her hips and say, "What are you waiting for?"

He smiles at her, slow and pleased, and comes up behind her, slides his hands over her legs. Such long, long legs. "What do you want, honey?" he says. "Want it in you?"

Serena bites her lip and assents before she lowers her head between Blair's legs. He waits to hear Blair's little kittenish moans, like a girl who faked orgasms so many times that that's just how she started to sound, before pushing his jeans off his hips, pressing into Serena.

The view is pretty good from here – Serena's ass under his hands, her blonde head buried between Blair's pale thighs, and Blair herself all head-tossing and furrowing brow, one hand creeping under the neckline of her dress. When it comes to Waldorf, he thinks this is her best look, her most unselfconscious one.

Positions change, clothes get lost: they fuck a lot.

In the dim, dusty morning Carter peels himself out of the hotel bed. Blair and Serena are curled around each other like flowers on the same vine, just a mess of limbs and stems. They look good like that; they don't look like they're missing anything. So he looks at them a moment longer before dashing off a note and climbing back into his clothes. Then he goes. Someone's always gotta leave, and usually he doesn't mind being the one.

He goes to the train station. He gets on the first train out without worrying about where it's going.


End file.
